


Phoenix Ascending

by LadyShadowphyre



Series: Phoenix and Dragon [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam Milligan Was NOT In The Cage, Amnesiac Lovers Reconnect Sharing Blankets, Blanket Fic, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel in the Bunker, Depowered Michael, He Got Better, M/M, Michael Has Cage Trauma, Michael Protected Sam In The Cage, Michael Used To Be A Dick, Michael in the Bunker, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Remembers More Of The Cage Than Believed, Sam Winchester Has Cage Trauma, Sam Winchester Remembers Lucifer's Cage, Self-Doubt Makes The Kissing Take Too Long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 13:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15316959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShadowphyre/pseuds/LadyShadowphyre
Summary: Dean may not have thought Chuck was listening when he prayed, but he was. What a depowered Archangel Michael is supposed to be able to do to help against Lucifer taking over Heaven and an approaching invasion from another universe's Heaven's armies and a much more militant Michael, no one seems to know. Sam thinks the best way to keep the peace is to avoid their Michael so as not to antagonize him with his presence. Michael just wishes he knew how to help Sam remember that he loves him.





	Phoenix Ascending

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 16 of the [SPN Rare Ships Creation Challenge](http://rareshipcreationschallenge.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Special thanks to [Rodinia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rodinia/pseuds/Zetal), [Barry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarryAllenIsTheFlash/pseuds/BarryAllenIsTheFlash), [Karate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karategrl80/pseuds/Karategrl80), and [Thallan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThallenCambricaltran/pseuds/ThallenCambricaltran) for putting up with my insecure stressing as I ground out the completed version of this. Bless you all, because I swear this probably never would have gotten finished without you!
> 
> Michael's alternate vessel is represented by Greek actor [Theo Theodoridis](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/21/33/b9/2133b94a7d367f48f5f63fda9cff3808.jpg).

**A** NYONE WHO THOUGHT Winchesters were good babysitters for newly-human angels should probably get their head examined, in Dean Winchester's opinion, even if the "anyone" in question was God Himself. His younger brother Sam might well have agreed with him except that their current situation was, in Sam's opinion, entirely Dean's own damn fault. Dean may have forgotten about his rather heated prayer to Chuck, half begging and half demanding for the Creator of All to bring back "everyone", but it turned out that Chuck had been listening after all. Castiel had brought himself back, Rowena was alive, and with the news that the universe Jack and Mary were trapped in was controlled by a version of Michael intent on invading their universe to try and purify the Earth into paradise  _ again _ (because that hadn't worked out so well in his own universe), clearly the solution was to drop a depowered Prince of Heaven fresh from the Cage onto the Winchesters' doorstep.

Dean wanted nothing to do with him. Michael was, in Dean's mind, half the cause of eighty percent of his family's problems due to everything from sheer inaction to active harassment, with the other half being Lucifer. The fact that Sam, who was usually keen to argue for second chances and redemption, was silent on the subject only served as another nail in the coffin as far as Dean was concerned. He'd failed his little brother way too much over the years, something that was becoming more and more obvious as Sam's composure kept crumbling, and he'd be damned right back to Hell if he let some former feather duster push Sam over the edge again. With Lucifer having taken over Heaven, and Michael in no position to take control back, that edge was already much closer than Dean liked to think about, and he was positive Sam wasn't telling him how close it really was.

Castiel wasn't any more eager to have Michael around than the Winchesters were, though he had different reasons for his wariness. Moreover, the Bunker was where he and Sam intended to bring Jack and Mary once they could find a way to rescue them, and having an Archangel - even a depowered one - anywhere close to his Nephil nephew spelled Trouble-capital-T with a side of Chaos. Add to that the last time he had personally seen Michael had been when he had thrown a holy oil Molotov at the Archangel's head. The former Prince of Heaven might not have any Grace right now, but Castiel would not put it past him to hold even more of a grudge than Raphael had over being trapped in holy fire. Having heard from Lucifer what the Michael of the alternate reality was like certainly did not endear the eldest Archangel to anyone on Team Free Will despite attempts to remind themselves and each other that they couldn't hold their Michael accountable for the actions of his alternate.

Sam, surprisingly, was the most vocal about not holding Michael responsible for whatever was happening to Jack and Mary. On the other hand, their Michael had done plenty to be held accountable for in his own right, most of it  _ to Sam _ . Those actions were what kept Sam from spending much time around the depowered Archangel, frequently going out of his way to make himself scarce. The few times he had to be in the same room as Michael, Sam kept his eyes down and barely spoke, escaping as quickly as he could politely do so.

"He is afraid," Castiel explained in discomfort when the third such escape caused Michael to ask after Sam's reluctance to be near him. "When Death retrieved his soul from the Cage, he put up a wall in Sam's mind to protect him from the memories. When the wall came down--"

"Because you  _ broke _ it," Dean muttered into his glass of whiskey, making Castiel flinch slightly.

"--the accumulated memories hit him all at once," he went on. "Sam is a remarkable human, but even a mind as exceptional as his has limits to what it can comprehend and remain sane. I did what I could to heal his mind of the damage, once I myself regained my memory, but most of the memories he retains are... unpleasant."

"He does not remember me," Michael guessed. He hoped that was the case.

"Oh, no, he remembers you," Dean corrected him, dashing those hopes. "He's got about two hundred years' worth of memories that are clear as a fucking churchbell of you and Lucifer ripping into him, literally and figuratively!"

"His soul was with us for five thousand years," Michael said in unthinking shock, and then grimaced when Dean swore and downed the rest of his whiskey in two deep gulps. "I came to regret my initial harsh reactions of anger, after a time, in particular when I saw what depravities Lucifer had become capable of visiting upon the soul of someone he repeatedly professed to care about. As angry as I was, no one deserves to be inflicted with the the things Lucifer did to Samuel." His hand came up of its own accord to rub awkwardly at a spot on his head where he was beginning to feel a deep-rooted ache. "I, too, have done what I could to mend the damage to Samuel's soul while I was able, even though often the most I could accomplish was to distract Lucifer's attention from him for a time."

"Sam should know of this," Castiel said, his brows drawing together in a pensive frown, voice slow and measured as he gave voice to the processes of his thoughts. "Those memories which he most clearly retains fade out before your interventions began, after you had ceased to attack him personally and had resorted to, ah... I believe the most fitting term would be 'sulking'." He glanced up at Michael, visibly steeling himself, and then added carefully, "It would perhaps be proper to offer Sam an apology for your actions which he could remember."

"I can hardly offer proper apologies and restitution to someone who flees my presence," Michael pointed out. "Nor will I attempt to force my presence on him when he is still so discomfited by it. I am not Lucifer."

"Y'all are overlooking something, here," Dean broke in, drawing the attention of angel and depowered Archangel once again. "This is Sammy. All three of us know how awesome that kid is, how-- how fucking  _ good _ he is. Forgiving. Compassionate. Know the only person in the world Sam hasn't forgiven who he really, really should?"

"Himself," Castiel murmured, eyes shadowed with unhappiness and guilt.

"Bingo," Dean said, the fingers of his free hand forming a gesture reminiscent of a gun to point in Castiel's direction. "Even after everything he's been through, all the good he's done for the world, Sammy's still hearing Heaven's fucking party line in his head calling him an abomination. 'Boy with the demon blood'. Probably a few other things if the way he mutters Enochian in his nightmares is any indication." He set down the glass and reached for the decanter of whiskey to pour himself a refill, ignoring the stricken looks on both angels' faces. "All three of us have said some shit to him in the past that he's remembering way more than any of the praises we've offered since. He ain't just afraid of you, Mike. He's trying his best not to offend you, and he thinks you're offended by his presence."

"How do I correct that impression?" Michael asked at length, once he was able to force words past the block tightening his throat. Being human was incredibly uncomfortable.

Somewhat unhelpfully, Dean shrugged and took another large gulp of whiskey before he stood and headed for the door of the library in the direction of the bedrooms. "Hell if I know. Still haven't figured out how to make Sam really believe  _ I _ don't hate him. Fucking Zachariah...."

And that was the end of the conversation.

 

**B** ETWEEN LUCIFER AND Asmodeus, there was more than enough going on that would keep the Winchesters and their allies busy, not to mention the little matter of the black market human parts auction they had shut down and the number of monsters who would now be forced to find alternative food sources. Despite all of these factors, the next case to catch the brothers' attention was a routine salt and burn out near Phoenix, Arizona. Sam and Dean headed out as per usual, not expecting the case to take longer than a day or two.

Three days later, Castiel arrived at the Winchesters' motel room in one of the Men of Letters vehicles, Michael in the passenger seat beside him. Dean let them in, looking drawn and tired and angrier than he had been when they had first left. The reason why became readily apparent when Castiel and Michael stepped inside the room to see Sam sitting in one of the beds propped up against extra pillows, a red flannel shirt hanging unbuttoned from his shoulders to reveal the white sterile bandages wrapped around his chest. He had his laptop open and balanced on his knees, but set it on the table by the bed when he saw their newly-arrived back up coming inside.

Simple salt and burn cases, it turned out, got a lot more complicated when other hunters showed up and, rather than look at the evidence of reports on the property and previous deaths, decided to go after the young woman who lived next door to the haunted house because she happened to be a self-professed practicing witch. The Winchesters had seen the other hunters breaking down the woman's door and rushed in to either help or interfere and had arrived just in time to see one of the hunters turn his gun on the woman's eight-year-old daughter. Sam had got between the girl and the gun in time to take a shotgun blast to the side while Dean tackled the shooter and the woman took advantage of the confusion to hit the idiot's partner over the head with an actual frying pan. Dean was still laughing about that, even if Michael and Castiel did not understand why it was funny.

That alone would have been complicated enough, except for Winchester luck deciding to throw them a curveball. The police had been called by another neighbor thanks to the gunshots, and Sam couldn't disappear with Dean to avoid notice thanks to the bleeding wounds in his side. Dean probably would have tried if the witch hadn't already been fussing over the wounds, so when the police arrived on the scene it was to find two bound and unconscious men, a third man injured, and a fourth awkwardly trying to calm down a hysterical eight year old while her mother was helping the injured man drink some tea. The other two hunters were now in lock-up for "armed robbery and attempted murder" according to the witch's testimony while Sam was hailed as a hero but stuck recovering in the hotel after checking out of the hospital against medical advice.

"So even if you healed me up, Cas, I'm still stuck sitting out the actual salting and burning of Don Brandgul's bones," Sam concluded with a wince that looked to be equal parts apology and actual physical pain. "Too many people know I've been injured to risk me being seen up and about digging graves."

"Will you allow me to heal you anyway?" Castiel asked, to Michael's surprise. Even more surprising was the way Sam hesitated until Castiel added, "I promise that doing so will not deplete my Grace so much that I will be unable to provide sufficient protection for your brother should the need arise."

"Except the need ain't gonna arise, 'cause this is just a simple job," Dean grumbled even as Sam acquiesced with a grateful nod. "No need for any extra mojo besides maybe some super-strength digging up Old Man Brandgul's bones. Simple and easy!"

"Yeah, we thought that about the case from the start of it and look what happened!" Sam shot back, showing more animation and expression of contrary opinions than Michael had seen of him in the whole time since he had been with them. It was fascinating to watch, as was the way Sam shifted carefully to allow Castiel into his personal space as he added, "Honestly, we should just start planning for every job to go pear-shaped in some way. Thanks, Cas," he said, shifting his attention seamlessly to the angel who had just healed his wounds with a soft smile that mixed honest gratitude and affection.

It was a familiar expression, too, one that Michael had become accustomed to seeing on the face of the soul he had frequently held close within the meagre protection of his wings in the rare quiet moments when Lucifer turned his attentions elsewhere for a time. There was less of the open awe that Michael remembered catching brief glimpses of, but the adoration was the same. It made the space in Michael's vessel near somewhere between his heart and his stomach ache, a sensation that Michael still could not entirely categorize in any kind of familiar terms. He quickly schooled his expression into something more neutrally pleasant and looked away lest Sam look up and see him watching.

He was not quite fast enough to prevent Dean from noticing, and the older Winchester turned a narrow look on Michael for a long moment. Michael met Dean's eyes without flinching, unsure of what he was searching for and even more unsure if his Vessel's features were up to communicating whatever it was to be found. After what felt like an uncomfortably long moment, Dean snorted softly and turned away, leaving Michael no more certain of things than he had been before.

"In any case," Dean was saying as Michael tried to figure out whether or not he should be worried. "Sam has to stay here and someone needs to stay with him in case any of the locals show up to check on him. Meanwhile, there's a racist, homophobic, misogynistic ghost whose bones have a date with some salt and gasoline before he drops any more bodies for the cops to investigate." Michael glanced over at Sam to see how he was taking Dean's summation of the situation and so missed the wicked look that crossed the older Winchester's face, but he caught Sam's sudden shift in expression from expectant to wary. "Welp, come on, Cas, let's get going! Don't let Mike burn down the motel, Sammy!"

"What?!"

 

**T** HE ATMOSPHERE IN the motel room was tense and quiet in the wake of Dean and Castiel's departure. Dean's flippant reassurances that everything would be fine failed to reassure any of the other three, much less so when he added that he would call Sam if something blew up - figuratively, he insisted, not literally - and that Sam and Michael should observe the "usual rules" about motel room sharing. Michael had no idea what socks had to do with anything, but the inference made Sam turn red and splutter at Dean, so Michael figured he was probably better off not knowing.

Michael sat in one of the chairs at the tiny motel table, attempting to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. Sam mostly kept to the bed and his laptop, scrupulous in maintaining the ruse of injury while checking something at regular intervals and muttering under his breath about weather patterns and cold fronts. Michael tried not to be obvious about how he clung to those mutters, audible breaks in the otherwise stifling silence.

The abrupt burst of music from Sam's mobile phone made both of them jump. Sam swore softly as he fumbled for the device, interrupting the music midway through the singer repeating the declaration that he was an angel with a shotgun. "What's up, Cas?"

Michael looked down at his hands and tried not to listen in too obviously to the conversation of which only half could be heard by his human ears. That strange twisting feeling in his vessel's abdomen was back, and he did not like it. He also did not like the feeling of resentment that had stirred at the thought of the closeness between Castiel and Sam, resentment that he had no right to even entertain. Of course Castiel and Sam were close! Castiel had supported and protected Sam long before Michael had even considered Sam to be more than a means to a precipitous end-- his own.

It galled him to admit it, even to himself, but Michael knew that even with as monstrous as Lucifer seemed to have become, he doubted he could have killed his little brother whom he loved above all else save their Father... and even that was waning in the wake of His absence. And Michael was tired. So very tired. Raphael had assured him that their Father's Will was served best by allowing His prophesied End to come about now that the Vessels had been born despite it being so many billion years earlier than originally Planned... and in the face of even Lucifer's almost stubborn adherence to the script, Michael had bowed before the seemingly inevitable and prepared himself for Death-- Lucifer's or his own, he could not have said which.

And then Lucifer had taken Sam Winchester in Detroit, as had also been foretold, but something had changed. Lucifer's words in the cemetery, about stepping back and not going along with the Plan could well have seemed like a ploy to get Michael to step aside and let his beloved yet corrupted little brother ruin the world, and Michael had responded as if that were so. Now, though, after the centuries spent in the Cage, with only Lucifer and the human for company, forced to confront Sam in his most raw, souled state, Michael could not help but think that Lucifer's hesitance at the end, his suggestion to just step away and not fight, might not have been, for a moment at least, genuine. Certainly Sam had shown and even continued to show a remarkable devotion to the cause of protecting the innocents among his species, and a greater compassion than Michael even felt capable of most days.

The sound of Sam swearing broke Michael out of his reverie. He lifted his head to see Sam drop his phone to the bed and shove his hands roughly back through his hair with a sigh that almost seemed to explode out of him. Michael hesitated, unsure whether or not he should remind Sam of his presence even if only to ask what was causing him distress. Before he could make up his mind, Sam turned his head to look directly at him for the first time since Michael had been released. The Graceless Archangel flinched back from the human's angry glare without meaning to, some learned instinct inherent to his diminished and powerless state attempting to make himself seem smaller and less threatening.

The sight appeared to startle Sam, because his frown shifted as he peered over at Michael. "Michael? Are... you okay?"

"I was about to ask you that," Michael said after a moment of hesitation, his voice coming out much more subdued than he had intended. To his surprise and dismay, Sam winced.

"Sorry," the hunter mumbled, closing his eyes. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly before opening his eyes again, his expression much calmer. "There's been a weather update for the area. We knew about the rain being predicted, but apparently it's going to be a lot heavier and colder than previously expected."

"Colder... snow?" Michael asked, feeling his insides clench up in a way he had come to associate with the feeling of dread.

"Snow," Sam confirmed, looking about as miserable as Michael was beginning to feel. "With a strong potential for hail. The witch we saved is giving Dean and Cas a hand with the salt and burn and then taking them back to her house to wait out the storm, but we're pretty much stuck here for the duration."

It was Michael's turn to wince. Lucifer had always burned cold, something that he now knew Sam had been much more susceptible to as a human, and now Michael was as good as human. The cold would not be good for either of them, physically or mentally, especially in such a confined space as the hotel room--

_ Oh, no.... _

"Should I see if I can acquire a second room?" Michael asked. When Sam looked up with a puzzled frown, clearly not understanding, Michael lowered his eyes and added, "So you need not be confined in the cold with me a second time."

Silence met his words, though Michael fancied he could feel the weight of Sam's gaze on him. He could feel his body hunching inwards, much the way he might have drawn his wings about himself in shame and contrition before his Father, had He been the one to look upon Michael in that moment. The bed springs shifted with a discordant, creaking groan that made Michael flinch in spite of his resolve - he would not impose further misplaced guilt on Sam! - and then there was a shuffling sound that Michael identified too late as footsteps on the hotel room carpet. Sam had dropped down to crouch in front of Michael before the former Archangel even lifted his head, and met Michael's wondering look with an even gaze.

"With the hotel about to be snowed in, I won't have to be confined to the bed playing the invalid shooting victim," Sam explained, propping his elbows on his knees. "However, it would look odd if my only remaining support got a separate room right before the snowstorm hits. Besides," he added with a slow smile that Michael found almost hypnotic in its gradual appearance across Sam's face, "from what I can recall, passing the time confined in the cold works a lot better when we're together than when we're left alone."

_...Remember? _

 

**S** AM BROUGHT MICHAEL water in one of the plastic cups the motel left on the counter by the sink, after the former Archangel admitted that his human taste buds disliked the sour taste of beer, despite having drunk it without complaint to appease Dean. The admission made Sam chuckle, which Michael was willing to classify as a "win", and the two of them settled onto the edges of the beds facing each other to talk.

Castiel had not lied when he said that all Sam had remembered was the first two hundred years, Sam had explained, because when Castiel had to go into Sam's head to try and fix the demolished mental wall Death had erected to protect Sam's sanity, those first two hundred years were all that could surface. "Pain, Lucifer, and fire," Sam had summarized, though he had held up a hand to stop Michael from voicing his apologies.

"After Cas took on the, uh, the pain from all the damage done to my soul, I didn't exactly get any real downtime to process," he said, staring at the carpet. "So I, uh, shoved it down and ignored it as much as I could. And I kept not getting a break, so I kept shoving it down and shoving it down, and the world kept breaking and we kept fumbling through trying to fix it--"

"And succeeding," Michael could not help but point out with a flare of justifiable pride in Sam that emerged as a brief smile. At Sam's lifted eyebrow, he defended, "With the world still enough in one piece that we can be sitting here together, how am I to think otherwise?"

"Fair enough," Sam conceded, ducking his head, though Michael saw the flicker of a shy smile cross his face. It faded just as quickly as it came, and the hunter said, "I'm not entirely sure your Father didn't have a hand in me keeping my head together when He and Lucifer were both in the Bunker, but it's hard not to think he had something to do with the fact that it took you showing up on our doorstep for more of my memories to force their way to the surface and make me acknowledge them." He glanced up, then back down, his eyes skittering away from meeting Michael's directly. "I, uh, I spent a lot of time holed up in my room just... processing the fact that I even  _ have _ good memories from the Cage, y'know?"

"I can imagine," Michael told him, voice low and thick with his own barely leashed memories. Lucifer had been no kinder to his older brother than he had been to his erstwhile Vessel, though Michael at least had the advantage of age and being made of Grace to help repel the worst of Lucifer's torments. "Castiel theorized that you might still be afraid of me. Again."

"He wasn't wrong," Sam admitted. Michael's stomach plummeted. The mingled guilt and grief must have shown on his face despite his best efforts to restrain his physical expressions, for Sam hurried to add, "Not of  _ you _ , exactly, just... When Amara got free and I was getting visions of the Cage...."

It took a moment, but finally it dawned on Michael exactly what Sam had feared. "I hold no resentment towards you for leaving me in the Cage, Sam," he hastened to assure the hunter. "No doubt Lucifer would have mentioned my acquired habit of singing various human songs I learned from you and from Adam in the brief time I... how did you put it... cohabited with him."

"He, uh, he did say something about show tunes," Sam said, eyes glinting with what Michael was beginning to recognize as amusement.

"Yes, well," Michael answered as blandly as possible, "he took exception to my renditions of Gilbert and Sullivan. He became quite agitated whenever 'A British Tar' made the rotation in particular. One might even believe it was his favorite, as much as he seemed inclined to follow the direction of the lyrics."

There was a moment of silence while Sam processed the information. It was broken when, as Michael had hoped, the hunter choked slightly, snorted, and then tipped sideways onto the bed as his body convulsed with laughter. The mirth was contagious, or perhaps it was the relief of having managed to bring Sam happiness, but Michael found himself chuckling along with his companion, much in the way he had done when they had kept company together and Sam had been continually surprised by Michael's dry humor.

The laughter faded off, and Sam pushed himself back up to sitting, but the smile remained as he looked up at Michael through the fall of his hair. Michael's own laughter caught on a hitch in his breath, chest tightening as warmth completely unlike the fire of his Grace spread through his abdomen.

"I missed this," came the soft admission, almost inaudible save for the relative silence of the room. "I missed  _ you _ ."

"And I you,  _ o'el o'elape'ira'eta'a _ ," The endearment slipped past Michael's lips without his conscious thought, but he could not regret it when the words caused Sam's eyes to blaze in that manner, wide and nearly glowing as if his soul could shine through his physical body like Grace, like the glorious and sacred manifestation of primordial Light for which Michael had named him....

There was a hard clunk and a sputter from the dying heater as the room was abruptly plunged into darkness.

 

**D** ESPITE HAVING BEEN the one to venture into the territory of newly remembered mutual affection with the use of the Enochian endearment, Michael was hesitant to push at the boundaries he felt must surely be there even though he could not quite perceive where they stood. That did not stop him from agreeing to follow Sam's superior knowledge of the human condition in order to keep the both of them from freezing until the storm outside abated and the electricity could be restored. Under Sam's direction, Michael used a towel soaked in beer to scrub the bathtub before filling it with clean water as a precaution against the pipes freezing. While he was doing that, Sam stripped the bedding from the second bed and brought pillows, sheets, blanket and bedspread to the bed furthest from the door and window, and created what Michael wanted very much to call a nest, then stripped himself down to his undershorts and got in between the covers, settling himself against the pillows and headboard before beckoning Michael to join him.

"The most effective way to share body heat is through skin to skin contact," Sam explained as Michael removed his own clothing down to his own undershorts. Sam's eyes skimmed over the exposed skin of Michael's vessel before looking away again as his cheeks became flushed. "Better to get started generating heat and warming the blankets before it gets cold enough that we really need the shared heat."

"Of course," Michael agreed, readily accepting the implied invitation along with Sam's hand and letting himself be guided underneath the blankets. They were cool against his skin, reinforcing the sensibility of Sam's suggestion, but Michael suspected there might be other motives for Sam in making the suggestion. That suspicion bore out as Sam helped Michael settle between his splayed legs and then pulled him gently back to rest against his taller frame, Michael's bare back to Sam's equally bare chest. Sam's skin was more chilled than Michael's, but it warmed quickly, pulling a soft sigh of contentment from the former Archangel as heat spread between them, barely noticing when Sam drew the blankets up over both of their bodies.

He did notice when Sam wrapped his arms around Michael's chest, loose and pliant as if unsure of his welcome. Michael shifted his arms only enough to lay them over Sam's, twining their fingers together as he encouraged the hunter to embrace him more fully. Sam's quiet huff of laughter vibrated against his back and stirred the hair near Michael's ear, but he obliged, even going so far as to close his legs alongside Michael's own, their feet meeting beneath the covers in cautious sliding of Sam's warm skin to Michael's more chilled.

"I think I expected you to be warm everywhere," Sam mumbled into Michael's hair, his toes stroking a line down the arch of Michael's nearest foot. "That always seemed to be the case before."

It was Michael's turn to huff a laugh, fingers flexing where they tangled with Sam's. "Most of my body heat consolidates at my core, even in my true form," he said, leaning his head back to rest on Sam's shoulder. "In my true form, however, I'm considerably larger, so I can see how it might seem as if I was evenly temperate."

"You wrapped around me better than any blanket," Sam murmured with an odd note to his voice that Michael wasn't entirely sure how to interpret, though he thought it might have been wistfulness. The hesitation was a nearly tangible weight as Sam ducked his head into Michael's neck. "Is this weird?"

"It is different," Michael admitted, his voice measured as he focused on Sam's question, considering his answer carefully. "I am not used to... feeling small. And that is sometimes disorienting and even frightening. Being here, like this, should remind me of my present smallness, my vulnerability... and yet, I feel entirely safe in your embrace. Is that 'weird'?" he asked, turning his head just enough to look up at Sam.

"It doesn't have to be," Sam offered, meeting Michael's eyes. This close, it was nigh impossible for Michael not to lose himself in the sunflower starbursts of green and gold even as they were swallowed up in the darkness by glittering black. "It could just be... just be us...."

"Just us," Michael echoed, barely louder than a whisper. He shifted away from Sam, then, but did not go far, keeping what hold he could manage on Sam's hands until he knelt between the hunter's parted thighs, hands still clasped together as he met Sam's eyes again, searching. Hoping. "Is this what you wish for, Sam? For me to stay with you? To be by your side for the remainder of my life from here on out, however long that may or may not be?"

"I do," Sam stated, almost vehement in his assertion. Michael's eyes went wide, and Sam faltered, wavering. "Is that what you want? To stay with me, whatever the universe throws at us, and face it together? To..." He trailed off. Swallowed. Looked away, then back again. "To be mine... and let me be yours?"

"I do,  _ o'el o'elape'ira'eta'a _ ," The endearment slipped free again, more deliberate this time, yet still as impossible to restrain as it was to stop his vessel's heart from beating faster. The flush reappeared across Sam's cheeks, but he was smiling as he reached up with both hands to cup and cradle Michael's face.

" _ O'el i'a'elapera'eya'i _ ," he murmured, the sound of the treasured Enochian endearment spoken in Sam's own voice setting blazing heat racing through Michael's core which manifested in a shudder, shaking and almost painfully aware of every place Sam's flesh touched his own. Michael braced his weight against the headboard as Sam drew him closer. Sam tilted his head back just enough for him to draw Michael down easily until Michael could feel the brush of Sam's every breath against his face as he knew his own must be caressing Sam's skin in turn. "Are you sure?"

"Are you?" Michael returned, heart thudding within his chest as he waited. If Sam did not truly want this, want  _ him _ ... well, Michael could accept that, but not if Sam pushed himself to be with him because he thought it was what Michael wanted of him, and with the way he kept hesitating, asking if Michael was sure...

A flare of something hot and sharp flashed through Sam's eyes even as the lips so close to Michael's own curved into a smile. "Yes, Michael," Sam stated, very nearly setting Michael reeling. "If you really want me, then  _ I want to be yours _ ."

"I want no one else but you," Michael confessed, dropping his head to close the rest of the distance between them and press his forehead to Sam's. "Sam...."

"Michael...."

Bodies moved together, shifting apart only to return to each other. Michael's hand found the back of Sam's head as Sam's fingers tangled in Michael's hair. Noses bumped, then brushed together, lips seeking lips and finding them, sliding, parting, interlocking... Sam's tongue ventured forward first, but Michael was quick to mirror him, tasting the lingering flavor of beer that no longer seemed so objectionable if he could taste it from Sam's mouth.

It was different from what they had been.

**_O'el o'elape'ira'eta'a._ **

**_O'el i'a'elapera'eya'i._ **

It was perfect.

 

**-And their World was suffused with Fire and Light-**


End file.
